


overhear a lonely thing

by americangothic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Communication, Cuddling, Gen, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, also a very brief but worth mentioning, but in the dirt outside, cuddling 2: this time on a moist wooden bench, general warning for depression & occasional suicidal ideation for this whole fic, i'll elaborate further in chapter notes if needed, mild invasion of privacy, or at least like. character gets cold to an unhealthy level, takes place in that nebulous 159-160 space while they're in scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americangothic/pseuds/americangothic
Summary: Jon finds a journal in Martin’s possessions.Or, a story about how to live past your self-imposed expiration date.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 34
Kudos: 233





	1. and this is you being brave

**Author's Note:**

> in which i abuse the "insert horizontal line" function in google docs, sorry about that in advance  
> title is from you are on the floor crying by clementine von radics

Jon finds a journal in Martin’s possessions. It doesn’t look familiar- he’s seen the few notebooks Martin brought with them when they left, with scraps of poetry and other bits of writing in them, and this definitely isn’t one. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but the itch that’s settled behind his eyes since they left the Institute is urging him to learn what’s inside. Before he’s really thought about it, he’s already opened to a random page mid-book.

* * *

_Left the house for the first time in two days today._

* * *

_Peter wants me to travel with him somewhere. On the Tundra. Not sure if I’m up for it._

* * *

Jon remembers the curling of red blood mixing with seafoam. Waves, lapping at their feet- just his after Peter’s been, well, _dealt with_ \- pushing the mess Jon’s made of everything back to him. The damp sand and rocks against his worn shoes. Echoes on the wind. His own harsh breathing.

* * *

_Nothing. It’s even lonelier out here. Tundra’s cold, everyone else is cold, I’m cold. It’s nice, sort of. My clothes are going to smell like salt when we get back._

_salt skin, wind_ ~~_on  
_ ~~ _grey and brown in his  
_ ~~_salt_ ~~ _stubble face_

* * *

Vague flashes of Martin’s hands on the railing for this one. How lucky Jon is, he supposes, to see the spray on his fingers. How lucky. There is no one else on the deck with him.

* * *

_The scheduling is relatively easy. It’s a rhythm, at least, certainly better than researching or archival work. Lonely, though. Suppose that’s the point._

* * *

_Wonder if Elias liked it for the same reason. Is it Peter’s influence, maybe? He talks about him sometimes._

* * *

Jon frowns. He’s never seen Peter and Elias’ spats, though he knows they happen- a selective eye can’t see forever. It’s a distraction, though, and he goes back to rifling through the journal.

* * *

_flowers, could’ve  
_ _the thing holds our daisies_

* * *

There are only two lines on the page. That doesn’t stop Jon from seeing Martin, tapping his pen on his fingers, trying and trying and trying for hours to find what will make the words flow.

* * *

_relapsed. Bloody stupid, but I do what I can._

* * *

Jon blanches at that one, then nearly rips the page in his effort to move on quickly.

* * *

~~_I wish_ ~~ _Jon found me again today. I miss him._

* * *

_Somewhere between a man and nothing at all  
_ _breathing through mangled plastic wrap  
_ _I have concrete in my lungs_

* * *

_There should be a synonym for lonely that’s the exact same. That doesn’t make much sense, but it feels just stupid to say as an emotion. Of course, everyone in the archives feels lonely nowadays, it’s not a coincidence. Doesn’t make it stop sounding... fabricated, I guess._

* * *

Somewhere distant, Jon hears the cabin door open and remembers he shouldn’t be looking through Martin’s belongings. The contents of this journal were private for a reason, of course, and he- Jon shouldn’t be looking at it. Should be preserving the dignity of the few experiences Martin hadn’t wanted to share with him.

Jon sets the journal down, tucking it back into the fold of Martin’s bag, and stands from where he’d sunk into a cross-legged position against the set of drawers. It’ll be okay, he thinks to himself, both as an assuagement and as a hope. He’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is autisticjon and depression is a bitch huh


	2. where the wall meets the floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this is a multichapter fic now bc i (looks at martin) (looks at my brain) (puts my brain on martin)  
> title is from that richard siken quote about falling to the floor crying

He's cold. It's not obvious- at least, only when looking at Martin and disregarding the surrounding landscape- but he is, he is very very cold. 

He's standing on the porch step. It's a quaint cottage. Storybook. The kind of place he'd imagined as a child, a look into someone else's choreographed life. The air around him is still, marred only by silent puffs of steam. He still has to breathe, but it doesn't have to be conspicuous.

The bushes around him are weighed down, leaves covered in snow. It's not good snow- too powdery to make into structures or snowballs, and too wet to sled in. He can't remember if he'd ever tried, ever touched it and let it run through his fingers, but it doesn't matter. He knows.

The highlands are quiet, even when not coated in snow. Even when he's not standing outside a picturesque cottage, a world away from anybody who might be inside. It's calming.

Serene.

Someone is calling his name, he realizes. A second after that, Martin remembers he has a name. He wrinkles his nose. He can't quite tell where the call is coming from, echoing all around as it is, so he just stays still. 

_ Martin, _ he hears.  _ Martin, where are you? _ It's not an unfamiliar voice, but the snow muffles everything. Somewhere, there is a creak of a door.

Footsteps on the ground behind him, snow crunching nearly silently. Martin feels the sudden wind around him. He can't tell whether he wants to turn around or not, but he can't move either way. 

_ Martin, _ someone pleads behind him. _ I can see you. I can see you, please. Come home. _

Martin nearly screams with the sudden shock of returning. He's been standing out in the Lonely for hours now, with only socks and the jumper he had on earlier in the evening. The jolt of cold spearing up through his feet and into his legs is painful to the point of burning.

He can feel Jon's hands on his back a second before he remembers he has a back, and a body, and weight and mass to go with that, stumbling forward because his frozen legs have suddenly become brittle and collapsing to the ground. He catches himself with his hands and makes a choked noise when he realizes that he feels dirt and gravel beneath his palms rather than snow. 

He is cold. That fact hasn't changed. But there are hands on him, warm hands, and a warm presence in front of him. Jon.

Martin tunes back in after being overwhelmed by the return of sensation, realizing that he's been hearing noises this whole time. Jon is making worried little sounds as he tries to get Martin's attention- kneeling on the ground in front of him, hands fluttering like he's not quite sure what to do- that eventually resolve themselves into a quiet stream of  _ please, Martin, Martin, I don't know what to do, Martin, wake up, I'm here, I see you Martin, please _ .

He's been making noise too, he realizes belatedly, little whimpers and wounded animals sounds. Martin half-shuffles and half-shoves himself forward until he's nearly doubled over on the ground and leaning against Jon. 

They shift so they're lying down somehow, still murmuring to each other, Martin grabbing Jon's hand like a life preserver at some point and not letting go. Martin ends up half curled into Jon's side, legs intertwined and fenced in by one of his arms. Somewhere above his neck, he can feel Jon's breath rustle his hair. Vaguely, he remembers that they're still outside and essentially cuddling in the dirt, letting out a weak chuckle at the thought.

Jon asks what's funny, and Martin, face still buried in Jon's sweater, tells him. A moment passes in which Jon doesn't move, and then he presses Martin even tighter into his sweater and Martin can feel the light huffs that means Jon's trying not to laugh and failing. 

At some point, they will need to get up and go inside. It's cold out here- albeit not as much so as the Lonely, but still an October night- and the ground is not as comfortable as a bed. For the moment, though, Martin is content with just resting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an assignment due tomorrow that im only 11/16th through and i can't project that issue onto martin so i guess i'll just have to do it myself  
> tumblr is autisticjon don't forget to like and subscribe


	3. for small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from carl sagan's contact

Jon wakes up like he does so often these days, pressed into Martin's side among the quilts. The bed is small enough that they have to cram together to fit comfortably. Even so, half the time a limb hangs over the edge in the night until tucked back under the blankets. It's disgustingly domestic- at least it would've been, if they didn't wake up every night from one nightmare or another.

Speaking of nightmares.

Jon blinks a few times, fighting back the fuzzy sleepiness that accompanies these nighttime moments. Martin's not making any noise, but his skin is so very cold and he's moved as far away from Jon as he can. Jon shuffles up the bed until he's closer to Martin's face. Runs a finger along the creases in his forehead, the ones that are more pronounced since before Jon saw Martin- before his coma.

Martin sighs a little, unconsciously presses himself into Jon's touch. Jon adjusts accordingly and holds himself next to Martin, resting his neck next to the man's face. Martin curls into him in a way that makes him seem much smaller than he actually is. 

Jon hums under his breath, quiet nonsense that's more for Martin than anything else. It's the throat vibrations that do it, he thinks. Jon's found that when he does this it helps Martin sleep better. 

Eventually, Martin's breathing evens out. He's still cold; might always be. But Jon can hold him, at least for now.

* * *

"Um," Jon starts eloquently, breaking the comfortable silence of the living room. It's attached to the dining room, which is attached to the kitchen, which is attached to the bathroom, which is attached to the bedroom, which is attached to the living room. Daisy's safehouse is one big loop.

Martin, who is doing the dishes in the kitchen, does not hear Jon and continues to scrub away at the pans, humming faintly to himself. 

He clears his throat. "Uh," he says again, "Hey Martin?" 

In the kitchen, the water shuts off. Jon listens to Martin set his pan down in the sink and dry his hands on the towel. He's watched him do it before. He has a certain way of folding it that makes something in Jon's heart feel tender. Martin walks into the living room.

"Yeah?" he asks, coming over to where Jon is sitting cross-legged on the couch. He's got his finger in between the pages of a book that he's barely been able to focus on. Jon nods as if deciding something to himself before uncrossing his legs and shifting to the side. Martin tentatively sits down next to him. Jon leans on his shoulder.

"Martin, if you ever want to, ah, talk about…" Jon says, waving his hand as if that will explain what he's referring to. "About your, um, experiences with the Lonely. And with Peter, and everything." 

He pauses here, and the beat is just long enough for Martin to wonder if he should be replying, but then continues: "I promise I'm not here to- to judge you, or be cruel. I'm not going to, um, I mean, I won't bring this up again if you're uncomfortable, but I want to, ah, be here for you. Um." 

Martin doesn't respond for a few seconds. Jon, at this point, sets his book aside and cautiously looks over at him. "Do you," he begins.

"I love you," Martin interrupts. He looks a little shocked that he said it- not the first time he has, obviously, but generally there are more nervous stammers involved and usually some giggles- and a faint blush spreads across his face. Nevertheless, he licks his lips and keeps talking.

"But I'm, I mean. Jon, I don't- I'm not ready to talk about that yet. Like, I probably will be at some point, but I- Christ. I'm still, still, still cold all the time, you know?"

Jon nods. "Of course. Of course, I- yes, Martin. Don't worry." Martin grins at him, and leans forward to embrace him.

"Thank you," he mumbles. His fingers are still cold as they wrap around Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i disappeared for like a month but theater is killing me. that being said unless we have like a ton of snow days you probably won't see me for another few weeks 😔✌️ tumblr is autisticjon


	4. none of this is your fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wants to fix things, but he's not sure how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (rolls in 2 months later holding a glass of appley sauce) you might've noticed that the projected chapter number changed from 6 to 4! this is bc every single iteration this scene went through it would not behave and eventually i just had to beat it into shape with a hammer, resulting in a singular chapter that's at least 2 times as long as any of the others. epic! also usually i don't put this info in the beginning notes but like. sorry in advance for the end notes. okay enjoy

It’s a fairly nice day out when Martin leaves for a walk. He finishes breakfast with Jon, both of them a bit too asleep still to have any sort of decent conversations beyond a few words, then puts on his boots and the warmer of the two coats he’d brought to Scotland with them. 

“Do you want company?” Jon asks from the other room, voice slightly muffled from the toothbrush in his mouth. 

Martin finishes buttoning up his coat. “I don’t think so, no. Besides, I should only be a bit- no more than an hour or so,” he replies.

Jon’s finished brushing his teeth by then, so he comes into the room just in time to wave at Martin as the man leaves. Martin waves back, a faint smile crossing his face.

Jon ponders how this makes him feel. On one hand, he was always worried about Martin these days- there was so much of everything else, a whole sky cluttered with things to be worried about, but ever since he’d woken up from the coma and heard what had happened, Martin had been a satellite hovering on Jon’s periphery. On the other, though, he’s always heard that separating yourselves from each other sometimes was good for relationships. 

More and more often as of late, Jon had been finding it difficult to know what to say or do around Martin. He was kind to him, of course, and- though he hadn’t said it yet out loud yet- he loved him, in his own way. It was just that Martin seemed…  _ stagnant _ , in his recovery from the Lonely. Jon knew it wasn’t like he didn’t want to try to come back, obviously, and it wasn’t like he could just fix it with one action or a few words of affirmation, but he didn’t see anything he could do to help Martin. It was wearing on him.

With a glance downward, Jon realizes the bowl he’s been scrubbing at for the past few minutes is obviously clean. He sighs and dries it, thoughts still orbiting around the issue of what to do about Martin.

* * *

Jon’s been reading on the couch, making his way through Dostoevsky, when he realizes with a start that he hasn’t seen Martin in a bit. He- though he hates to admit it, Jon knows where he is, so it’s not a Lonely issue. But it might be just a regular lowercase ‘L’ lonely issue. The thought needles Jon’s brain until he sighs and sets down the book.

“Sorry, Martin,” he murmurs under his breath as he gets up and gets ready to go out. Checking the time reveals that it’s a little over two hours past when Martin said he’d be back. Jon pulls on his shoes, then hesitates at the coat hanger before donning Martin’s other coat. It’s bigger on him than it was Martin, but that’s to be expected. He hopes the other wouldn’t mind.

Stepping out of the doorway, Jon looks around to orient himself before shutting the door behind him. He sighs and starts in a direction he knows will end up leading him to a nearby pond, only about a kilometer or so away.

The walk is quiet. Jon thinks about what he’s going to say when he arrives.

* * *

Martin is sitting on a wooden bench, idly kicking the occasional pebble towards the edge of the water. He never kicks them with enough force to actually send them in- that would disturb the calm water. He can see a group of birds on the other end of the pond, though they’re too far away to determine what kind. 

It’s quiet. Martin appreciates that.

Eventually, he hears the soft crunching of footsteps on gravel approaching him. He doesn’t turn to see who it is until the man is within speaking distance, though he knows who it is already. Jon smiles halfheartedly at Martin when he sees him and the latter nods back in response. Without speaking, he shifts over to and pats the edge of the bench. Jon sits down, resting his hand on the edge, then grimaces on contact with the soggy wood and thinks better of it. Martin still doesn’t say anything, electing to just watch Jon instead.

“Laconic today, are we,” Jon says after he settles. Their hands are barely touching, though they sit side by side. 

“Yeah,” Martin agrees. Jon glances at him, and Martin licks his lips before speaking. “Look, I’m not going to pretend not to know any longer. You read my journal. I don’t- I’m not sure how much, or which parts, but, but you did. So um. Let’s talk about that.”

Jon sucks in a breath, and now it’s Martin’s turn to look over at him. His eyes are drifting out over the pond, searching out the birds. “I did,” he says. “I- I’m sorry, obviously, and I didn’t realize what it was at the time, just- I figured- I was, I was hungry. I didn’t know.” Here, he pauses for breath. Martin looks back to the water.

“It- I’m sorry. I’m sorry, both that I read your journal and that- that everything  _ happened _ , all the business with Peter. I-”

“I know you’re sorry, Jon,” Martin says softly. “You’re forgiven for that.” Jon exhales.

One of the birds takes flight, and they watch it for a second, spiraling upwards and away from the water for a few minutes. It calls out to its flock from where it’s wheeling in the air. A few responses come back. 

“How did you know?” Jon murmurs.

Martin blinks, resisting the urge to laugh. “You’ve been treating me like I’m- like I’m fragile! It’s been like I’m made of glass to you for the past few days. Also, I saw that someone had moved it,” he added. “You’re not very subtle, Jon.”

Jon nods, still staring out over the water. “I know.”

“Listen,” Martin says, hand traveling over to rest on Jon’s own. “You want to help. You want to fix it. And that’s fine! That’s great, actually, it’s- I’m still not sure how to deal with you, sometimes. But you can’t fix it. My, my issues with the Lonely and Peter- I spent so long. And yeah, I had a plan, and I did escape it, but I’m not- that was bare bones. I only managed to avoid being a complete avatar by getting so close that no one could’ve told the difference, really.

“It’s cold, Jon. Sometimes I’m afraid that- that  _ I’m _ going to be cold my whole life, and that’s… God. I don’t know how to deal with that, either. You’re helping, though- just you being you and being, being  _ around _ me, I-” Martin breaks off, his voice choked with tears. Jon wraps his arms around the man and presses his forehead into the other’s shoulder. They don’t say anything for a few minutes, just Martin weeping quietly. Eventually, he sucks in a shaky breath and continues.

“I love you. But it’s- I know you’re trying to help me, but you’ve got to go at my pace when you do. I trust you so much, and this- I’m not going to  _ stop _ trusting you after this, but when I say you need to wait for me to be ready, you really do. I mean, it’s- even though I’m concerned about certain things related to you, you don’t see me asking you to talk through your experiences in the Buried with me, despite the fact that I want to. Just. Please, trust me on this, Jon. I know it’s hard. I know you’re trying to help me, and I love you for that, but I promise. I’m not going anywhere. We have time. I’m going to recover, and it’s gonna be okay.”

“You’ll be okay,” Jon says, and Martin blinks his eyes open to see that he’s similarly choking up, despite any efforts to the contrary. “You- alright. Alright. I trust you.” He loosens his grip on Martin, letting him shift to face Jon, and then makes a little whimpered sob as Martin wraps his arms around him in return.

“Thank you,” Martin mumbles, face half-pressed into Jon’s hair. Jon returns the sentiment. 

The two of them simply sit there, holding each other, for a while, long enough for the bird that had taken off to come back down to the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first multichapter fic i've finished in 5 years! coincidentally it's also the second multichapter fic i've finished ever, and the first one was a minecraft youtuber and warrior cats crossover fic on ff.net written around this time of year as well. that being said i've definitely improved as a writer since 5 years ago lmao, and i really actually enjoy seeing the progress i've made. i've had depression for a third of my life now and while i've incorporated it into my work before, i never focused on recovery the way i did in this fic. i've also started seeing a therapist since i last updated, which is something that 5 year ago me never did, and that's helping me too. there's still a long way to go, and the state of the world at large definitely isn't helping, but i'm trying and i'm progressing, as martin puts it, at my own pace. anyways. i love y'all, stay hyped for s5 next week, and come visit me on tumblr @ autisticjon if you wanna!


End file.
